


Episode 2: Memories

by The_Raconteur_24601



Series: Borrowed Time (and Space) [2]
Category: Doctor Who, The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Gen, Slight Hurt/Comfort, you don't have to read/see the borrowers to follow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Raconteur_24601/pseuds/The_Raconteur_24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor takes his feisty new five-inch-tall companion, Zepheera, to a planet of museums where she is kidnapped by a secret group of research scientists. While there, something happens to Zepheera; chaos ensues and secrets are revealed and lives are endangered, namely Zepheera's.</p><p>[UNDER CONSTRUCTION]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You're probably aware of this already, but this is part two of my series. Much of this fic is not going to make sense unless the first part is read, so that's what I suggest you do. Not like I can force you, do what you want, but things would be easier to understand if you go back and read the first fic 'Getting Old' if you haven't already. Much appreciated!

Prologue

The first thing she became aware of when she awoke was the pounding in her head, like her brain had developed a consciousness of its own and was trying to escape the confines of her skull. The second was that she was lying rather comfortably on her back and didn’t particularly want to move. And the third and most important was that she had no idea who she was.

Slowly, cautiously, almost reluctantly, she opened her eyes. A small part of her wanted to stay where she was and continue her rest, but the majority of her was anxious to figure out where she was and who she was. She first studied her bed – if it could be called that. She figured that beds were flat and had pillows and blankets and the like. This one was a rectangular slab that was tilted up at a slight angle, coated with dark foam, curved in a perfect wave for spinal and neck support. And the room was warm enough that blankets were hardly needed.

She glanced around the room; other than the bed, it was normally furnished. Beside the bed was a nightstand and a lamp, a desk was tucked in the corner with a wheeled computer chair, a dresser with a rather large round mirror on top of it sat against the wall. It dawned on her that she didn’t know what she looked like, and she hopped off the bed and crossed over to the mirror. Her dark brown hair was rather short; she was fairly tanned, young-looking, and seemed to be athletic. She probed the muscles on her surprisingly skinny arm to find them very strong. She had on a simple gray dress that came down to her knees. She glanced back up at her face, which seemed rather ashen and tired with those dark circles under her eyes – which, she noted, were a very deep violet in color.

Just when she reached up a tentative hand to touch her cheek, her head snapped toward the door as an echoing noise came from the other side of it. This noise, too, was unfamiliar to her, faraway at first but getting closer. She approached the door. It was an odd door; metal like the walls, ceiling and floor, shaped sort of like half of an elongated irregular octagon. There was a button just to the right of the door, and she contemplated pressing it. Presumably, it was what opened the door, but there was that noise, now sounding hauntingly like footsteps, becoming louder and nearer. Almost unwittingly, she touched a finger to the button and pushed. With a futuristic _woosh_ the door slid upward and, heart beating fast, she poked her head out.

“Ah! Good, you’re awake!” The voice came from above her and to the left, and she cringed a bit, lifting her chin to stare up at the enormous man approaching through an equally enormous corridor. He carried something in his hand, but she was too terrified to acknowledge it.  She gave a frightened shriek and rushed back into her room. She quickly discovered a set of two buttons, about an arms’ length from the open-door button. Someone had applied bits of packaging tape and written their functions right beneath each button; the one on the left read ‘Automatic Setting’ and the second read ‘Lockdown’. She immediately slammed her fist down on the second button and the door gave another _woosh_ and a _click_ as it shut and locked itself. She could still hear footsteps outside the door, and she quailed until her back touched the far wall. Color drained from her terror-stricken face, she stared wide-eyed at the door as things got quiet rather suddenly. She briefly wondered if the man had gone, and she gasped loudly when there was a light knock at the door.

“Zepheera? Are you alright?” His voice was different, much less—well, big; but it was definitely the same man. Her brain started banging against her head again in confusion. And who was Zepheera? That couldn’t be her name, could it? She wasn’t even sure it was a proper name.

The knock came again, harder this time, and the man’s tone became more urgent as well. “Zepheera, talk to me. Tell me if you’re alright.”

Her breathing became quicker, and she racked her brain for her options. Option A, let the man who was a giant not a moment ago into her room where he would do god-knows-what to her; Option B, leave him on the other side of the locked door where he just might go away after a while. She slid to the floor, shutting her eyes and wishing that she could just as easily shut out the knocks that were quickly turning into bangs.

“Zepheera, let me in! I’m trying to help you!”

She clutched her head and squeezed her eyes as hard as she could, rocking back and forth a little now. She just wanted him to leave her alone and was afraid beyond capability of rational thought that would allow her to verbalize this. Her eyes shot open when a buzzing noise came from the door and her head snapped up. What was that? What was he doing?

All of a sudden, the door flew open and the man rushed in. He wore a brown pinstriped suit and a light brown overcoat, this much she recognized from the giant from before. Only he had somehow made himself her size, normal sized. Even so, she tried to back away further from him, though the wall stopped her. The man stopped a few steps in front of her, eyes filled with concern. This puzzled the tiny part of her that still wondered.

“Zepheera, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

She stared up at him a moment. He acted like he knew her somehow, but everything about him was alien to her. Uncontrollably, she started to sob hysterically.

“I don’t know where I am,” she managed between sobs, her voice rather raspy. “I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are!”

The man’s eyes – which were already wide – grew larger still at this response. He knelt down so as to be at eye level with her, a conflicted and almost pained look on his face.

“It’s me, Zepheera. It’s the Doctor.” He stared at her for a moment, as though waiting for a response from her that never came. “You remember me, right?”

She had stopped backing away from him, but she watched his every move warily. Tears streamed her face, though they no longer flowed. She shook her head slowly and replied, “I don’t remember you.”


	2. The Museum Planet

Chapter 1: The Museum Planet

_~Fifteen hours before~_

“So! Your first official trip in the Tardis!” exclaimed the Doctor, grinning widely at the borrower stood on his shoulder. His grin must’ve been contagious, because an identical one played across her own lips. “Now, we’ve had some fun in the past, so why don’t we take a look at the future? Or better yet-“he smoothly turned a crank on the console clockwise with an adventurous gleam in his eyes, “- both.”

With that, he began dancing madly around the console, manipulating the controls until they could both feel the Tardis start up and begin its flight through the Vortex. Zepheera’s position changed from standing to crouching, her hands tightly gripping the fabric of the Doctor’s overcoat so that she wouldn’t fall. Zepheera laughed; the haphazardly motions of the Tardis in flight and the equally hectic motions of the Doctor as he (attempted) to pilot the Tardis combined with the ever-present danger of Zepheera’s grip slipping made riding on the shoulder of the Doctor equal in thrill to the most dangerous amusement park ride.

“The past and the future at the same time?” she practically shouted over the din. She almost asked if he was serious, but she had learned that, more often than not, he was.

“Oh, yes!” he exulted, throwing the final switch and with one last tremor, the Tardis came to a halt.  Positioning himself in front of the monitor, he turned a few knobs on it, trying to get it to show what was going on outside. “Here we are! It’s the year sixty-five ninety in Earth terms, and we’re on Castro-Sigma-Twelve; more commonly known as the Museum Planet.”

Now the screen lit up with an image of dozens upon dozens of large buildings with pillars at the entrances and large signs in front of them. There were several lines of sinuous track that held the trams filled with people eager to get to the next museum. Two of the three suns were high in the sky as the third was setting, perfectly lighting up the horizon with light purples and pinks and blues. Zepheera’s jaw dropped at the sight, knowing that when she saw it for real she would be rendered breathless.

At first, they agreed that she would wear the Tardis key perception filter while they were in public, but Zepheera changed her mind at the last second insisting that she would be fine. She figured that she’d rather jump into this thing that the Doctor called a life rather than ease into it. Still, the Doctor assured her that if at any time she felt uncomfortable around all those people, he could always hold her in his hand or something. And again, Zepheera reiterated that she was fine. Just before he opened the door, however, the Doctor glanced at her and noticed she was taking deep breaths, the kind you take when your heart is beating fast.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Terrified,” she replied, keeping her eyes forward.

“Again, you can—“

“I like terrified.” She grinned and looked up at him. He couldn’t help but grin back as he pulled back the doors and out they strolled into the warmth of the two remaining suns.

The image on the monitor hadn’t done the view any justice. Zepheera’s breath caught just from the beauty of the sky. Taking in the brilliance of the endless horizon of buildings made her knees feel a little wobbly, and she eased her way into a seated position as smoothly as possible so as not to worry the Doctor unnecessarily. Then she could take in the crowd passing by on the busy walkway, as though a blue box hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere or else this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. They were primarily human, although the occasional alien would pass by. All this had rendered Zepheera’s throat rather dry; she swallowed to moisten it, again trying to be subtle. The last thing she wanted was the Doctor to think that she couldn’t handle all of this. She could handle anything, and she’d prove it. With an eager look, she turned to look up at the Doctor.

“What’re we waiting for? Allons-y!”

…

They were easily admitted into any building they liked with just a flash of a little wallet from the Doctor instead of a ticket. Zepheera assumed it was some kind of fake ID, and she asked what it said as he was re-pocketing it.

“Slightly psychic paper,” he replied shortly, pulling it back out to show a blank card to her. “Shows them what I want them to see. Or what they want to see. Or whatever.” With a goofy smile, he tucked it safely in his pocket, and Zepheera’s brow rose. The Doctor never ceased to surprise her.

The Museum Planet seemed to be a compilation of all the greatest museums in history, just slightly modified to fit the time period. For example: The Air and Space Smithsonian included the history of space travel, which Zepheera found interesting, and the Museum of Natural History displayed loads of skeletons and stuffings of animals that were everyday to Zepheera, and that apparently were now extinct.

And of course, the Doctor in a museum was the equivalent of a child in a candy store. It seemed to Zepheera like every two minutes, he’d whisper an entire paragraph to her, and each one began with, “Actually, what _really_ happened was…” She didn’t mind; in fact, she paid more attention to what he told her than what the tour guide said.

Instinctively, Zepheera warily eyed any human that got close, but hardly any of them seemed to take notice of her. Then again, she was pretty well camouflaged; her sweater almost matched the background of most of the museums, though this wasn’t what she had intended when she picked it out from the many in her wardrobe. A few gave an odd look when they saw her, but she encountered no hostility.

There was a bit of a fright when the Doctor was descending a nearly barren outdoor staircase heading towards the Art History Museum. The Doctor insisted later that the steps must’ve been recently washed and were slick; Zepheera was convinced that he was just lost in thought like usual and tripped over his own feet. In either case, the Doctor’s balance failed him and Zepheera, caught off-guard, flew off his shoulder. The Doctor caught himself on the banister and managed to snatch Zepheera out of the air, holding her out in front of him as he righted himself.

“Are you alright?” He lifted her to eye level so he could examine her closely for injuries, and thankfully she didn’t seem to have sustained any. She looked a bit frazzled though, and she lifted herself into a seated position on his palm, chuckled lightly and shook her head.

“You’ve really never had a companion shorter than six inches, have you?” she half-joked.

“Nope! Never thought I would, either.” Greatly relieved that she wasn’t harmed, he lowered his hand into a more relaxed posture. “Maybe you should go in my pocket, just to be safe.”

“Doctor, I’m fine, really. Just—watch where you put your feet, you great lummox,” she laughed. The Doctor laughed, but he still hesitated a moment before he lifted his hand to a shoulder.

After Art History, they decided they were hungry and stopped off at a concession, one of many outdoor courtyards outlined with shops and dotted with tables. Zepheera asked what they do if it rains, and he replied that it never did. The weather was completely automated, and with the three suns, there was light all the time. The Doctor purchased a granola bar from a small place and sat down in a nice single seat, occasionally handing chunks of granola to Zepheera. They sat in silence for about fifteen minutes, eating and thinking, and finally the Doctor turned to look at her. She was slowly chewing, watching some of the humans passing by with a look of semi-contempt. This caused a few memories to resurface, and the Doctor felt the need to speak up.

“Why don’t you like humans?” He watched as she was broken out of her thoughts by his voice, and she kept her eyes forward to avoid meeting his.

“I never said that,” she muttered.

“Yes you did,” he countered. “First time we met, you told me that you were raised hating humans, whom you later said you lived off of.”

Zepheera nibbled at an oat as she carefully considered her response. “Just because I need them, doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

“So you don’t like the race you’re completely dependent on? What kind of sense does that make?”

“Hey, I can take care of myself, alright?” she snapped, turning her head to look up at the Doctor. She looked away after only a second, breaking off and tossing aside a bit of granola that was too hard for her teeth to bear, sighing a quiet sigh of exasperation. “You just don’t get it.”

“And what don’t I get?” His tone was heading in the direction of stern.

Zepheera angrily tossed the entire granola chunk this time, and it clattered against the table ahead of the Doctor as she ran her hands through her short hair in an attempt to calm herself. She lifted her head and stared at the sky, gathering her thoughts before responding.

“Humans think they own everything, and they think that the world revolves around them. And the fact is that they’re right. But borrowers, we started out with nothing. The world isn’t made for us, and we’re vulnerable. We need to survive somehow, and since the humans make too much of everything anyways, we figure why not? And we keep secret for the longest time; but secrets never stay that way. Sometimes people see us. Not a whole lot, just one or two, but we leave before they can see us again and soon we just become a bad memory. But some catch us, and some kill us.

“But here’s the thing: humans have access to more than we do, with their televisions and laptops and mobile phones. If a human dies by another human’s hand, it’s on the telly the next morning and the police get involved; the body is prepared for burial or cremation and there’s all this fuss over one human. But if a borrower dies by a human’s hand – or foot, more often than not – its corpse gets chucked in the bin with the rest of the rubbish. And I know it doesn’t happen a whole lot, because if it did, people would’ve heard about it by now. But still, it makes me think. In the big scheme of things, we’re not in charge of who’s important and who isn’t. They are. And that makes us inconsequential. Insignificant. Expendable.”

She could feel the Doctor’s eyes scanning her, and as her throat tightened she tried to blink away the tears that were welling up. It was stupid to cry, but that had all been building up inside her for over fifty years without her even knowing. She, of course, had other reasons for the way she felt about humans, but these were too personal to mention. She instinctively flinched and tensed up when his hand approached her; his thumb came to rest near her on his shoulder and he slowly ran a finger up and down her back, smoothing out the plastic of her candy-wrapper vest. This was the most comforting gesture anyone had given her in years; she relaxed.

“Hey, hey. Come on, look at me,” he said gently. He didn’t speak again until Zepheera lifted her eyes to his. “You are just as unimportant as I am. Nonono, I mean it,” he added when she scoffed and started to turn away. “Listen, over nine hundred years I’ve been travelling time and space, all across the universe, and do you know how many unimportant people I’ve met? None. I had this friend once, not too long ago; she was just a temp from Chiswick when I met her, and you know what happened to her? She became the most important woman in the whole of creation.” He grinned warmly at Zepheera, who returned it with a weak smile, and she lowered her eyes to her shoes. The Doctor went on: “Now, people are always putting others up on a pedestal, because they’re thinking, ‘Oh, they’re more special than I am; they’ve got more money, more talent, and more attention.’ But you know what?” He brought his hand around to lift her chin back up with the tip of his index finger. “To hell with what anyone else thinks. What matters is what you think of yourself, or what I think of you. And I think that you’re brilliant! You’re resourceful. You’re brave. That’s where it counts. Hey?” She finally managed a full smile when he gently wiped away a tear that had streaked her cheek.

“Did I mention I hate you?” she joked, swatting away his big finger. The Doctor chuckled and lowered his hand. For a brief second, they were silent, and the silence ended when the Doctor took a sharp intake of breath, indicating that he was about to let out a long stream of words, and reached into his inside pocket for a map of the region.

“So! Where do you want to go after we’ve finished with Art History?” he held the map so she could see it well, and she scanned it, mentally eliminating the places they’d already visited and contemplating the remainders.

“Scientific History looks interesting. Why not there?”

The Doctor’s face split into a wide grin as he folded the map. Tucking the wrapper into his pocket to be thrown away later (or forgotten, more likely), he stood. “Off we go then!” he exclaimed as he strode off toward the trams.

 

The Scientific History museum was by far the most interesting. Back on Earth, if you wanted to learn about the solar system or the layers of the earth, the most you’d be shown was a video presentation, maybe even a diagram of some kind. On the Museum Planet, it showed you the most interesting points of science through realistic holograms that sometimes filled entire rooms! Zepheera was obviously amazed, and even the Doctor was impressed. None of the other museums so far had been this detailed (apart from the Museum of Natural History; its holograms were smaller and were of extinct creatures and peoples).

They moved on to a particularly large area that promised to show a hologram of how a supernova forms. The group of seven and the couple that Zepheera could only describe as interspecies (the man was purple and about four feet tall) left the room; presumably, they had just seen the hologram the last go-around, and this left the Doctor and Zepheera alone with the hologram counting down from thirty every second. As the numbers got lower, Zepheera positioned herself more comfortably, lying on her stomach and propping up her torso with her crossed arms. Finally, the numbers ticked down to zero and the hologram started.

It began with a brief overview on the life cycle of a star: how it’s ‘born’, how it grows and matures, etc. Just as it was reviewing different types of stars, a man in a white coat casually entered the room. Zepheera’s feeling was coming on, but since it was going off all day, her attention remained on the holographic ball of gas before her.

But then, from behind the Doctor, the man slunk closer, his eyes locked on Zepheera. He made hardly a noise as he slowly reached an arm forward, pinched one of Zepheera’s feet from behind and yanked her away, quickly closing a fist around her. She was trapped before she could scream and the Doctor hardly noticed she was gone.

The man turned away from the Doctor, holding Zepheera to his chest, thumb pressed against her mouth so that she could not cry out. She struggled against his grip, pushing with all her might against the fingers that had her in thrall and she managed to get her mouth free before the man had gotten beyond earshot, and she shouted at the top of her lungs: “DOCTOR!!”

The man froze for the briefest moment – glancing behind him, Zepheera guessed; she couldn’t exactly see what he was doing – and then he stuffed her into his coat pocket and took off running. Inside the pocket, it was difficult for Zepheera to make sense of anything. It felt like she was being thrown around all over the place, constantly in motion, and it was making her feel a bit sick. She could hear the Doctor shouting “Hey! STOP RIGHT THERE!” and she was dismayed by how far away he sounded. This man couldn’t actually be _outrunning_ the Doctor, could he?

The man quickly approached the marble bust of some important science bloke, pressing a hidden button behind it, which revealed a secret door; he pressed his hand to the scanner on the side, checking behind him as the Doctor gained on him, and rushed in as soon as it opened. Once closed, he deadlock sealed it and darted down the corridor behind him as the door was hidden once again.

The Doctor skidded to a stop to keep from slamming into the wall that had appeared where a door had been, sonicing all around it.  His efforts were futile; even the Sonic couldn’t undo a deadlock seal, and he knew it. Thinking fast, he rushed to exit the building. He could get in using the Tardis; it was only a matter of getting back to it. Which was easier said than done because, the Doctor learned as he neared the tram station, it was now rush hour.

Meanwhile, the man in the white coat had slowed to a walk and he reached into his pocket to remove Zepheera. She protested to the best of her ability, yelling all kinds of profanity at him, kicking, and altogether struggling against his grip, which he barely managed to maintain. He entered a large room filled with tables of science instruments and equipment, dozens of men and women in identical white coats, several of which carried clipboards. He then approached a rather tall man with rimless glasses that had an authoritative air about him, and he held out the still screaming and struggling Zepheera.

“Look, Dr. Koenig! I found something for our control!”

Dr. Koenig regarded Zepheera, looking back at the man over his glasses. “And you’re sure this is its natural form?”

“Positive, sir.” This was a lie; he truthfully had no idea, but he really _really_ needed a promotion, and he hoped this was all he needed.

“Very well,” said Dr. Koenig dismissively, turning back to what he was working on. “You know the drill, Reg.”

Reg’s face fell when that was the only response he got, and he glanced at the creature in his hand before heading to a table and filling an eyedropper with a green liquid. He uncovered Zepheera’s mouth, but for once since being kidnapped, her jaws were clamped shut. Reg sighed. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” He mainly said this to himself; he didn’t think she was capable of understanding him. He forced her mouth open by positioning two fingers on either cheek and pinching, inserted the eyedropper into her mouth and squeezed the liquid down her gullet.

 Zepheera instantly began coughing dryly; it was like liquid fire had been forced down her throat, and she no longer focused on protesting. Her throat felt severely damaged, and she was coughing so incessantly that it grew exhausting. She hardly noticed that Reg was crossing the room and dropping her into a jar with two cotton balls soaked in a powerful-smelling anesthetic. Her knees failed to support her and she fell onto all fours and with each cough, she slipped further into unconsciousness.


	3. Tested and Tried

Chapter 2: Tested and Tried

_~Ten hours before~_

With a sharp gasp, Zepheera woke up. She was unsure of how long she had been out, but she was even less sure as to why her vision was purple. She blinked twice, looking down at herself; she realized she was in liquid, due to the fact that her limbs were constricted from moving as fast as usual and her hair was swaying slightly in suspension. ‘Then how am I breathing?’ she thought, taking deeper and slower breaths trying to figure out how she was doing it.

She pushed herself off the floor and swam until her hands touched glass, and she glided along the circumference, approximating the size of her prison. Just as she guessed it was about the size of a large beaker, she felt something pulling at her. The purple fluid was draining through a small vent in the bottom, and Zepheera was pulled toward it. The more she fought to back away from it, the stronger it seemed to pull. Finally, the last of it disappeared and Zepheera was left dripping in her clothes, able to get a better understanding of where she was. It was poorly lit, but fairly roomy as far as closets went. There were loads of similar containers like hers lying about on tables on wheels, all empty, as well as other science-y things that Zepheera was unable to identify.

There was a flyer nearby, an advert from the looks of it. She squinted at it; it seemed to promise a new miniaturization ray to shipping companies that “bear such heavy loads” at a reasonable price of 280 credits, coming in 6591. She furrowed her brow, wondering what that had to do with anything.

A soft, muffled groaning sound alerted Zepheera to the fact that she wasn’t alone. She peered through the darkness trying to pinpoint the source, and her eyes fell on a container identical to hers about seven inches away in which lay the crumpled form of a young woman about Zepheera’s size. It was then that she noticed that ache in her elbows and ankles. Either there was a human hiding somewhere in this closet, or her feeling was being triggered by this young woman.

The girl looked about twenty-four years of age, sandy-haired and quite sickly; she had on a knee-length sleeveless gray dress. She sat up slowly and cradled one of her arms in the other. Her gaze soon met Zepheera’s. Zepheera became excited and opened her mouth to shout in hopes that she could make contact. She might be human, but she and a human had never ever been in the same potentially dangerous situation.

But nothing came out, and this attempt only reawakened the pains of her throat for a brief moment. Meanwhile, the girl watched empathetically as Zepheera brought a hand up to her throat in shock.

Zepheera determined that she’d have to try something else. She sat down on the floor of her prison, making sure that the woman could see her. She then lifted a fist and tapped on the glass in Morse code; she had learned it years ago and hoped that it still existed. She tapped: HELLO CAN YOU HEAR ME

When the young woman realized what Zepheera was trying to do, she quickly pressed her ear to the glass of her own container. As soon as Zepheera had finished, she tapped back: _YES_

Zepheera barely contained her excitement as she rapped on her glass: MY NAME IS ZEPHEERA

The woman simply replied: _JODY_

She almost tapped ‘nice to meet you’, but she noticed how protective Jody was being about the arm she wasn’t tapping with. There seemed to be something wrong with it. So instead, she sent: IS YOUR ARM HURT

Jody’s eyes widened and took on a sort of feral look to them. She drew her arm closer to her chest as though she was scared to let Zepheera see it.

PLEASE, Zepheera sent. WHAT WILL THEY DO TO ME

Jody bit her lip in consideration, and she hesitantly extended her arm as far as she dared, or perhaps as far as it could go. It was enough for Zepheera to see and though she could make no noise worthy to be stifled, she covered her mouth.

In the center of the inside of Jody’s elbow, right where the vein should be, there was a circular scar that could have only been made by a syringe. The skin around it seemed red, irritated, and possibly infected. The surrounding veins were slightly engorged and a nasty purple-green color. It was clear to Zepheera that whatever it was they had injected into Jody, it was destroying her, starting with the arm.

But what was terrifying for Zepheera wasn’t the sight of it. She wasn’t human like Jody, and she had no clue what that stuff would do to her, or wouldn’t do, or would undo. And suddenly it dawned on Zepheera, how it was all connected. The humans were testing out the miniaturization ray on other humans, most likely to see if it has adverse effects on them. After all, with such technology, why _wouldn’t_ humans want to use it on themselves? She remembered the man who had captured her saying that they needed her for a control. She hadn’t been subjected to the ray. That’s why they needed her.

Just as this crossed her mind, the door to the closet opened. In the corner of her eye, Zepheera could see Jody shrink back as far from the scientists that entered as possible, visibly frightened to death. Zepheera shied away as well as one of them approached her container and pressed a button on the top. A puff of white smoke engulfed Zepheera from the top and bottom of her tube, and in two breaths she collapsed. In that last half-second before she was knocked out cold, one word swirled around her head:

Doctor…

…

Zepheera blinked blearily as she woke, finding herself in a dark place. Sitting up slowly as her eyes adjusted, she learned that she was enclosed in a small box just large enough for her to stand in and extend her arms out in any sideways direction. She stood slowly and looked down at herself; she was barefoot and wearing a dress exactly like Jody’s. Her hand went instinctively to her arm, but there was no sign of injection. The wound would have healed almost instantly, but she felt no different albeit a little woozy—which was probably from the drug they had used to knock her out.

So she was clean of unwanted injection and overall unharmed, yet she had been stripped of her clothes—things that she had made herself—and was in a prison so small that she was starting to feel claustrophobic. All in all, she didn’t like where this was going. Where was the Doctor?

A sudden burst of harsh white light broke Zepheera out of her thoughts and stung her eyes. She had just lifted a hand to shield them when the box tilted and she stumbled out of the opening that had appeared when one of the walls was removed. She blinked hard and took in her new surroundings.

Ahead of her was a white corridor that separated into others at odd places. It looked suspiciously like a maze. _‘Highly original’_ Zepheera thought bitterly. There was no ceiling and when she looked up, she saw a long mirror facing her and a camera in each corner of the room. No doubt there were scientists on the other side, eyes trained on her, clipboards at the ready.

Zepheera frowned. They could put her in the maze, but they couldn’t make her their lab rat, scrambling around aimlessly only to be rewarded with a block of cheese. She sat down on the spot, glaring at the mirror, crossing her arms defiantly—and, admittedly, a little childishly, but she was beyond caring.

_ZAP!_

Zepheera jumped to her feet, startled by the little jolt of electricity that had run from the floor through her body. It had been short and mild, like a static shock, but it still set her heart beating and her teeth itching. _‘Alright, alright,’_ she thought bitterly. She would go along, but she’d do it her way. She moved to the nearest wall to her right, pressing her hand to it gingerly in case she’d receive another shock. When she didn’t, she began moving slowly along the passage, keeping a hand on the wall as she went.

Meanwhile, the scientists were rather confused to say the least.

“Is it going already?” “We haven’t started the timer yet.” “My dad showed me a trick like that once. You keep following one side of a maze, and you’ll eventually find the exit.”

“Dr. Koenig?” said the technician, who was in charge of the electrical shocks and had his hand hovering over the lever, awaiting orders.

The man in the rimless glasses, the only one in the room who wasn’t murmuring about the test subject, stared thoughtfully as it slowly made its way around the maze. He raised a hand to stop the technician. “Let it finish. Then we’ll see how its memory serves in the speed tests.”

The technician nodded, but a scientist protested, “But sir, this doesn’t line up with the other tests. We need this for our control—“

“Our control will be tested,” replied Dr. Koenig firmly. “But first let’s see what it’s capable of.”

Zepheera kept at a reasonable pace; she had no idea how long she would have to be doing this. With hardly anything to distract her, her mind kept wandering to the notion that at any second, the Doctor would burst in and rescue her. But, after the longest forty-five minutes of her life, she made it to the end with no such interruption. The end proved to be yet another box identical to the one at the start. She reluctantly got into it, seeing no other choice, and waited. There wasn’t much else to do. Not even a block of cheese to nibble.

She wasn’t kept waiting for long. Moments after the open wall closed, she felt the box move. She sat down right away and stayed there until she was sure the box had stopped and was stable. Just like before, the wall disappeared and she was forced out of the box. Immediately, she moved to the wall to repeat her earlier action, assuming that this was a different maze that they wanted her to find her way out of. She had half-expected a shock, but was still surprised when she received it.

Shaking the pain and subsequent numbness out of her hand, she heard three rhythmic _pong_ s and then a higher-pitched one. It sounded like the starting mark of a race; this had just crossed her mind when her feet received a mild shock. So she started walking.

Zepheera pictured in her mind’s eye what she remembered from the last maze. Maybe this wasn’t a different maze, and she could somehow make it out by remembering how the maze went. As soon as she’d made a mental picture, she was _zapped_ again. They wanted her to go faster. So she sped up to a fast walk. _Zap!_ A jog. _Zap!_ She ran down the corridor, making every correct turn she could remember, and she made it to the end in no time with hardly any mistakes.

“Impressive,” mused Dr. Koenig. The rest of the scientists were scribbling notes furiously. He waved his hand dismissively and said, “Very well, proceed with the initial protocol.” With that, he exited the room for his coffee break. It was clearly no one else’s coffee break, as everyone shot to their feet and began working.

Zepheera knew as she threw herself into the box at the end of the maze, gasping for breath as she was once again encased in darkness, that her troubles were far from over.


	4. The Process of Healing

Chapter 3: The Process of Healing

_~Six hours before~_

For the next few hours, Zepheera, or Subject Two-Three-Eleven according to the scientists, endured test after rigorous test. She ran four mazes, two more in the dark, even obstacle courses that grew thicker with obstructions and shock hazards the farther into them she went. Her breaks were few and infrequent, and by the end of the sixth obstacle course, she felt like she’d never run again.

She lay sprawled on the floor of the box panting for a few minutes. When she finally caught her breath, she noticed that they were taking longer than usual. They hadn’t given her this long a break before, and her stomach dropped with worry. It lurched when her box was suddenly moving, but it was different this time. Before, it seemed smooth and mechanical; this felt like she was being carried. But carried where?

The next thing she knew, she was tumbling head-over-heels out of the box and onto a cold surface. Her head was sent spinning on impact, but she could easily make out that she had been dumped into a large beaker. As her vision cleared and she sat up, a man mumbled to himself, “Finally. This one took forever to die.” Her attention was immediately drawn to what the scientist was referring to, and she realized that she was back in the closet. The scientist detached one of the glass containers and lifted it to his eyes. Zepheera’s heart sank when she saw the lifeless, crumpled form of Jody sliding around the bottom. She looked away as the container was unceremoniously dropped into a trash bin. Silently, Zepheera did her own little memorial for Jody. She and her hadn’t exactly been best friends, and sure, she was human, but she wouldn’t wish what they did to her on her worst enemy if she had one.

Then the scientist approached the counter on which Zepheera’s beaker sat. He dug a cotton ball and a bottle of something out of a drawer. _‘Oh, no you don’t,’_ Zepheera thought. She had been knocked out too many times, and she wasn’t about to let them do it again. Sucking in a long, quiet breath, she held it as the man dropped the soaked cotton ball into the beaker and went to open the door. To avoid suspicion and any invasive anesthetic, Zepheera lay down on the floor of the beaker, watching the man as he shouted, “Reg! Hurry up!” He then shut the door, heading back to Zepheera, who quickly shut her eyes, feigning unconsciousness.

There was the sound of rummaging, and Zepheera risked cracking open one eye; the man pulled out a small syringe with an even smaller needle. A shiver went down her spine. She realized that they were done with her, and she was to suffer the same fate as Jody.

Just then, a young man entered with a tiny vial of clear liquid, and she closed her eyes once more.

“Took you long enough,” the first man snapped. “We don’t pay you to be lazy, you know.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the second meekly. Zepheera recognized the younger man’s voice as the man who had first captured her. She might’ve felt bad for him if not for that fact.

The first man grunted in response. “Ah well. Let’s just get this over with.” With that, Zepheera felt her jar being lifted and tilted over. She slid out and onto the counter, rolling a little onto her back. Just a she felt pressure on her outstretched left hand, her eyes shot open. She’d had enough of this, and she wasn’t going to just let them inject her. She tugged as hard as she could to free her left hand, but her shoulder was quickly pinned down by his forefinger.

“Hold her down!” he ordered the young man whom he had called Reg. Reg hurried forward, forcing Zepheera’s kicking legs down and pinning her other arm. She still struggled, but she was powerless to stop the menacingly approaching needle as it made its way toward Zepheera’s vein. She couldn’t utter a sound, she couldn’t do anything. Reg bit his lip, seemingly wishing he were somewhere else. The needle had almost broken her skin when—

The man hesitated. He, Reg, and Zepheera could hear a dull racket from the other side of the door. The two scientists exchanged looks, and Reg went to the door to see what the matter was. This left Zepheera’s other limbs free, but she was too busy straining her ears to listen to the ruckus outside. As soon as Reg had opened the door, a breeze came into the small room along with a moaning, mechanical wheeze. Slowly, a blue police box appeared in the middle of the lab. This caused enough panic and confusion as it was, so you can imagine the shock when a man poked his spikey-haired head out of the box.

“Oh! Hello! Terribly sorry to intrude,” he said as he slipped out of the box and shut the door behind him, “but I’m looking for a friend of mine whom you stole from me. Seen her around? She’s about four and a half inches tall, dark hair—bit of an attitude if you ask me,” he added in an aside to a wide-eyed scientist. Hands in his pockets, he looked around expectantly. “Anybody? Nobody? Listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” When no response came, he shrugged. “Hard way then.”

From his inside pocket, he whipped out his Sonic Screwdriver. He raised it above his head and buzzed it at the light fixture, making the bulbs explode. This action combined with his grave facial expression changed his entire aura from goofy to nearly terrifying in less than five seconds. Pointing his harmless screwdriver at the nearest scientist, he demanded, “Where. Is. She?”

Zepheera could see all this happening over Reg’s shoulder, and she was so elated to see the Doctor that she seemed to lose all capability of rational thought. She tried shouting for him but, of course, nothing came out bur a few raspy croaks. Then she remembered that she had a free arm! She lifted two fingers to her mouth and let loose a long shrill whistle that the Doctor was sure to hear.

The Doctor immediately rushed toward the partially open door from which the sound had come. He could make out the outline of a young man who backed away as he approached. He burst into the tiny room, sonicing the syringe out of an older man’s hand. As the syringe shattered on the linoleum, the man backed away from the Doctor and the counter over which he had been hunched over and on which Zepheera laid. The Doctor hurried to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently as he scooped her up in his free hand and inspected her closely. She nodded vigorously, nearly in tears with joy. Reg, who had backed into a corner, unhinged his jaw; all this time, she could understand English. She could understand everything. A terrible wave of guilt spread over him.

“Is there anyone else?” the Doctor said once he was sure that she was okay and that she showed no signs of injection. She shook her head no.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he pointed out. Zepheera lifted her chin higher and tapped her throat. The Doctor nodded. “Right. We’ll get you fixed up, don’t worry.”

With that, he lifted her protectively to his chest, eying the two scientists as he backed out of the room, giving everyone in the lab outside the same death glare. He opened his box and just before he disappeared inside, he turned back to address the entire room. “As of right now, this place is officially out of business! I suggest you all clear out now, or you’ll have me to deal with!”

He slammed the doors behind him and went straight for the control panel, determined to get Zepheera as far away from that place as possible. A million thoughts were whirling around in that overflowing head of his; he was cursing whoever was in charge of that place, thinking irritably about how people like that were besmirching the very name of science itself; he was beating himself up about not being careful enough with Zepheera; if he had taken the proper precautions, they might not have found her.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly let go of Zepheera, whom he realized was clinging to the fabric of his suit and trembling a bit. “Hang in there, Zepheera,” he whispered as he hurried to pilot the Tardis into deep space, where he brought her to a halt.

Running as fast as he dared toward the infirmary, the Doctor realized it’d be difficult to help her while she was at this scale. He managed to coax her into letting go of him so he could lay her down on one of the beds. Then he dug out Lady Khardenia’s ring from his pocket, apologizing to Zepheera in advance before slipping it onto his finger and pointing at Zepheera, causing her to increase in size until she fit the bed properly. Given her current situation—being mute and all—she truly didn’t care at the moment. As long as the Doctor could fix her throat, she’d let him do what he had to. Even if it meant she had to feel… _human_ for a while.

The Doctor sat her up and rummaged through a drawer for a small flashlight. Zepheera opened her mouth so he could shine the light into her it and survey the damage.

“Say ‘ah’.” She tried for a few seconds, but gave up when it became too painful. The Doctor hummed thoughtfully, clicking off the flashlight and walking to a nearby cabinet. Zepheera took this as a sign that she could close her mouth now.

“Well, good news is,” said the Doctor as he rummaged through a number of labeled jars and containers, “it doesn’t look too serious.” Finally, he found the one he’d been looking for, and he took from it a little blue-green thing that was about the size of a cough drop. He took it back to Zepheera, told her to open again, and dropped it onto her tongue. It had a delicious taste that was unlike anything Zepheera had ever eaten.

“Suck on that until I get back, and _don’t_ chew it,” he added, giving her a pointed look. She nodded in understanding, and he turned to leave. All of a sudden, Zepheera’s hand was clenching his own, pulling him back. He looked back at her, concerned that something else was wrong that he missed. “What’s—“ he began; he was interrupted by Zepheera throwing her arms around his middle, squeezing tightly. Chuckling lightly, the Doctor smoothed back her unruly dark hair and he let her embrace him for a few moments. For now, he could only imagine what she underwent in that place, but it must’ve been scary for her. It had certainly been scary for him. And after all this was over and he returned her to her normal size, the odds of their embracing would be close to none. Better to let it happen while it could.

After a minute or two, the Doctor gave her shoulders a comforting squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her, and she nodded and finally released him, eyes red and sinuses loose. He’d never seen her so enthusiastically relieved.

He made his way through the Tardis’ corridors toward the kitchen. There were bound to be a few herbal remedies in there, or at least the ingredients to make a decent one. It occurred to him, once he’d entered the kitchen and started to gather together various things, that he hadn’t yet attempted to cook in this regeneration, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be good at it. He’d been rubbish at it last time, though he tried to seem otherwise. In the end, though, he managed to put together a nice hot thermos-full of steaming liquid which he brought back to Zepheera.

When he entered the infirmary again, Zepheera was lying on her side on the bed, eyes seeming heavy with fatigue. He smiled warmly, brought over a chair to sit next to the bed, and managed to coax her back into a seated position. She drank the entire thermos after the Doctor had promised that she could go to sleep in her own bed afterwards. The stuff seemed to make her even more sleepy and contented, and the Doctor had to practically carry her to her room. On the way, she made a few raspy attempts to speak, but the Doctor insisted that she rest her throat. The herbal remedy he’d given her, he said repeatedly, should help her healing process to get back to its usual speedy rate, she needed only to rest and let it.

He reduced himself and Zepheera to her natural height once they approached her room, and he helped her into bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, and the Doctor quietly left her to it. Every now and then, he’d check on her, and each time he found her still asleep. After several hours, he figured she’d be getting a bit hungry by now. So he put together another thermos of—he supposed he could call it soup. He was on his way to bring it to her when he found her already up, poking her head out of the miniscule door.

“Ah! Good, you’re awake,” he exclaimed in relief. He was about to say something else, but he seemed to have startled her, and she’d rushed back into her room and shut the door.

Frowning in confusion, he slipped the thermos into his pocket and reduced himself in size, approaching her door. Oddly, it didn’t open when he pressed the button next to it. Frown deepening, he knocked as softly as he could so as not to startle her further. He called through the door, asking if she was alright. Seconds passed without reply, and the Doctor began to get nervous. His knocks became louder and his voice grew stronger, but still she made no attempt to let him in. Finally, he had to resort to sonicing the door open, and by then he was afraid that she was having a stroke or something.

But instead, he found her on the far side of the room, back pressed against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked terrified, confused, uncertain, and as he crossed the room toward her she seemed to shy away from him. So he stopped in his tracks, not wanting to frighten her.

“Zepheera, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

All at once, she began sobbing. This struck him dumb; He’d seen her tear up, but never had he seen her break down in an uncontrollable fit, and he was completely unsure of how to react.

And then she spoke for the first time since the museums, her voice still a bit raspy as her throat was probably still healing, and each word she said made his hearts sink a little further: “I don’t know where I am…I don’t know who I am…and I don’t know who you are!”

The Doctor could hardly believe what he was hearing. He knelt down on one knee, at eye level with her; he wished she’d stop looking at him in that wary way, like he’d strike her at any moment. “It’s me, Zepheera. It’s the Doctor.” He waited to see if hearing his name would stir some memory. When no sign of recognition crossed her face, he tried again, “You remember me, right?”

His insides ran cold as stone when she slowly shook her head and said softly, “I don’t remember you.”

The Doctor’s head spun with mad thoughts, most of them to the effect of: _This is bad. This is very, very bad!_


	5. Retracing Recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Wednesday at 3pm Eastern Standard Time  
> sorry this one's a bit late, but I went and saw Iron Man 3. I hope this excuses my tardiness

Chapter 4: Retracing Recollection

Zepheera—at least that’s what the man had called her, it could very well be a nickname—was sitting on her feet, hugging herself uncomfortably. She remained silent as she watched the man pace the entire area of the room, muttering furiously to himself and running his hands through his messy hair. After a while, she worked up the courage to speak.

“Sir?” It had come out much quieter than she’d intended, so she cleared her throat and tried again.

“Sir?”

“Hm?” He replied distractedly, slowing his pace only slightly.

She swallowed thickly, hesitating before she asked, “Who…are you?”

At this, the man stopped moving entirely, giving her a look that implied the answer to her question was obvious. “I told you, I’m the Doctor.”

“Well, yeah, but…Doctor who exactly?”

Again with that look. “Just ‘the Doctor’.” With that, he turned away from her again. She had so easily accepted the name the first time, why did she have to pick now, when he was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her, to ask the question _everyone_ asked?? With a resigned sigh, he decided that he shouldn’t hold it against her; it wasn’t like she was her old self.

Zepheera, mind reeling with questions, persisted. “What kind of doctor, though? Are you _my_ doctor? Am I sick?”

“I don’t know! I’m thinking.” He tugged at his hair and went back to his muttering. “Can’t’ve been the remedy, I tried some before I gave it to her…Come on, think think think…” Turning back to Zepheera, he began to spout his own questions. “What are you feeling right now?”

Suddenly put on the spot, it took her a moment to answer. “Erm, confusion?”

The Doctor shook his head and took a few steps toward her. “But are you in pain? Any discomfort? Any aches?”

“Er…Not particularly?”

Beginning to get frustrated with her non-cooperation, he brought himself down to her eye level and asked her something she couldn’t answer in a few words. “How far back can you remember? What’s your first memory?”

Her eyes kept darting around the room, seemingly avoiding meeting the Doctor’s. Then again, he was a complete stranger to her now. Slowly, she stood up and approached the bed.

“I woke up here,” she said finally. “All I knew was that I didn’t know who I was.” Spinning around in place, she pointed at the dresser before crossing toward it. “I went to the mirror because I wasn’t sure what I looked like. I was looking myself over when I heard a strange noise outside. That’s when you…” She trailed off here, moistening her lips nervously, and then she turned to face the Doctor. “That’s all.”

“That can’t be all,” retorted the Doctor determinedly. He stepped briskly toward her, taking her slim shoulders in his hands. She finally looked him in the eyes with a questioning expression. “Listen, I don’t usually make a habit of this, but I promise you that I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t feel like I had to.”

This, of course, clarified nothing to her, and her confused frown deepened as the Doctor lightly touched two fingers to each of her temples. Her eyes were forced shut upon his touch, and he slowly closed his own.

“What are you doing?” A strange sensation overcame her, and she felt like something was sifting through her very thoughts. As far as she knew, people weren’t supposed to be able to do this. How was he doing this??

“Ooh, you’ve had some cowboys in here,” the Doctor muttered, ignoring her question. Looking around, he found her memories as lacking as she’d described. He could also feel her becoming quickly disconcerted. “It’s alr—“he began, but she interrupted him.

“Who the hell _are_ you??” she demanded in a sudden outburst. Without realizing it, she pushed her way into the Doctor’s mind. As she broke away from his touch, several images flooded her vision: an orange sky among many other skies, faces of men and women alike, and the faces of ten men in progression, ending with the face of the man before her. All of a sudden, she understood that all ten of those faces belonged to the same man, that he was from a planet called Gallifrey, that he was called a Time Lord, and that he was the very last of his kind. Nothing but surface information, but enough to know that though he tried his hardest to hide it, he was at his very core a lonely old man who longed for companionship. And enough to decide that she could trust him.

She found herself leaning against the dresser where she had fallen back, breathing heavily and looking up at the Doctor, whose eyes were wide. He had a peculiar expression that Zepheera couldn’t quite place right away.

“What did you see?” he practically whispered.

And suddenly she recognized that look. He was genuinely terrified of what she might have seen. She wasn’t sure what exactly he didn’t want her to see, but she must not have seen it. She pulled herself upright, looked him in the eyes and gave him a small, genuine smile.

“I saw enough,” she assured, and she proceeded to sum up what she’d seen. When she’d finished, she frowned a little and started to blink a lot.

“You alright?” asked the Doctor when he noticed.

“Y-yeah, I…For some reason, I’m hearing you talking. You’re telling me a story. Something about a Time War and Daleks?”

The Doctor’s face immediately brightened. “I told you that story the other day!” he exclaimed excitedly. “You’re remembering!”

“I am?”

“You must be! Oh, this is _brilliant!_ Molto bene! Do you realize what this means??” he asked excitedly when she gave him a blank look. She shook her head, and he took her shoulders again. “It means we can get your memory back!”

And suddenly, he had her locked in a tight hug, which she returned after the initial shock had worn off. After a few seconds had passed, the Doctor said softly, “How are you feeling?”

At first, this question seemed rather out of the blue to Zepheera, but then she realized that he’d asked her that question earlier. Upon repeating it back to her, he hoped to reassert her trust in him, even if it was such a simple question. And so her answer was equally simple.

“Hungry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

The Doctor chuckled.

…

“Now! All we have to do is retrace our steps!” exclaimed the Doctor as he tugged Zepheera along the corridor by the hand. They were still the size of borrowers; the Doctor wanted to wait to show Zepheera the ring and its properties for fear of overwhelming her again. “Well, not _all_ the way back of course, but the control room should bring something back!”

“If you say so,” replied Zepheera, clutching the half-drunk thermos of soup in her other hand. The stuff was rather delicious and relieved her throat of its scratchiness. In his excitement, the Doctor had urged her along before she’d had a chance to finish it.

She understood by now that where they were was called a Tardis, but she couldn’t recall anything about it or even recognize her own room. She hoped the Doctor was right about this.

A few sharp turns later, they finally came upon the threshold of the control room, where they both stopped in their tracks. It surprised the Doctor, the feeling that overcame him when he laid eyes on the control room he’d known and loved for years. He recognized everything, but at the same time, it was like seeing it for the first time. If it had been big before, now it was _enormous_.

Zepheera was transfixed as well. Her mouth hung open and she wished she had eyes on all sides of her head so she could see everything at once. Once he’d snapped out of it, the Doctor led her inside.

“Watch your step,” he warned as they transitioned from a solid floor to the grate-like catwalk. For the first few minutes, she allowed herself to be slowly led along the floor while she took in every facet of the room, but after a while, she released his hand, gave him the thermos and wandered on her own, following some sort of sinuous trail that the Doctor couldn’t see. He trailed after her, watching her in case some memory was reawakened in her.

A thought occurred to the Doctor as he watched his friend peer up at the center console. It was funny, that although she hadn’t the slightest clue who she was, she still maintained a few of the idiosyncrasies that he’d noticed. The curious way she’d look about in a new environment, her innate sense of balance as she navigated the precarious floor with hardly a look down, that way she’d worry at her lower lip thoughtfully. This was a great comfort to him.

He was broken out of his thoughts when Zepheera said quietly, “I remember this.” Her eyes lowered to the floor and she crouched down as though inspecting it. The Doctor joined her. “I was hiding in here, and I remember I was scared. Or at least disconcerted. Anyway, I heard you coming and I was standing right here in the middle of the floor. I had nowhere to hide, so I grabbed onto the floor and fell through it, just barely hanging on with my fingers. You came in right when I did. And you were so…much larger than I was. But I don’t remember being afraid, like earlier.” As she spoke, her expression became that of wonderment, and then slight confusion. She turned to look at the Doctor. “Why wouldn’t I be afraid?”

Instead of answering, the Doctor offered a warm smile and gently helped Zepheera to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s go back to your room. I’ll explain on the way,” he said, handing her back the half-empty thermos. She nodded, and together they wended their way back to the corridor.

Explaining borrowers and their relationship with humans proved easier said than done. The Doctor realized that his own knowledge of Zepheera’s people was limited to what she’d told him, which wasn’t a whole lot. But he tried his hardest to sum up what he did know, and thankfully, she seemed to understand.

By then they’d reached Zepheera’s room. As they entered, she heard him chuckle quietly behind her. “What is it?” she asked over her shoulder.

“It’s just…I remember you finding this room.” This piqued Zepheera’s interest, and she turned to face him, sitting on the edge of her dresser as she listened. The Doctor paced the room at the speed of a slug as he related the experience to her. “The original plan was for me to find an empty dormitory that you could borrow things from, make your own little space inside. I was going down this corridor with you on my shoulder. And then you spotted the door, just like the other doors, except your size. I didn’t notice it of course; it was right by my feet. In fact, you called my attention to it by yanking my earlobe.” At this, the two had a good chuckle. “And it turned out that this room was absolutely perfect for you, complete with en suite wardrobe and toilet. Almost like the Tardis was expecting you. And you fit right in.

“The next morning, I came to wake you up, only to find you wide awake already. You were sitting up on your bed, busily sewing away at your jacket. Said you couldn’t sleep a wink. In fact, I think that it’s still around here somewhere—Ah! Here,” he exclaimed after he’d rummaged through a few drawers in her nightstand. He came up with a bundle of fabric and handed it to Zepheera, who had eagerly hurried over. She unfolded it, running her fingers over the fabric of the jacket that she slowly recognized. Curiously, she slipped it on, finding it comforting to have her bare arms covered. She also found dangling from her sleeve a little slender wooden sliver attached by a thread. Yanking the loose thread off and lifting the little thing, the Doctor seemed to recognize it.

“Sewing needle. You told me that you made that out of a thorn. You said that you always—“

“I always keep a few in my pocket,” she interrupted quietly, “because…because you never know when you’ll need a quick patch-up.”

“You remember!” said the Doctor excitedly.

Zepheera nodded, smiling a little. “Every word.” Suddenly, she sucked in a quiet hiss of pain and raised her thumb to her eyes. She had been absentmindedly fiddling with the needle and accidentally nicked herself. She sucked on her thumb a little before setting the needle down safely on her dresser and stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets. “Just what you told me, though,” she added, crossing the room to the bed and sitting on the edge of it. “It’s a bit like I can see it playing out in my head as you’re saying it, in bits and pieces. It’s getting better.” All the same, she rubbed a finger to her temple, blinking hard, obviously fatigued.

“Tired?” asked the Doctor.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed in reply.

The Doctor nodded. All of this must’ve taken a lot out of her, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to let her rest. He placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in a bit, alright?”

Zepheera nodded sleepily, adjusting herself so that she lay back comfortably on her bed. The last thing she heard before drifting off was the quiet _woosh_ of the door as it shut.


	6. In Which Things Get Complicated

Chapter 5: In Which Things Get Complicated

Sleep proved to be less pleasant than Zepheera had hoped. All through her three-hour sleep, she was haunted by three entities, none of whom she recognized. One was the voice of a middle-aged woman, just her voice, which would do nothing but shout at Zepheera. Most of it was unintelligible, but Zepheera still shied away from the noise. Then there was a boy, who was young, had buttery-yellow eyes, and he would eagerly tug at Zepheera’s hand and say things like, “C’mon, what’re you waiting for, Zepheera? Let’s go, slowpoke!” The boy would pull Zepheera away from the woman’s voice, as if hoping to distract Zepheera from her horrid shouts. And every now and then, Zepheera would notice the third figure out of the corner of her eye. He was a pleasant-looking man and whenever Zepheera got a good look at him, he was smiling warmly at her. But she could see also a sad glint in his eyes.

As her nightmare progressed, she began to see the man less and less until he seemed to disappear completely. The woman took on corporeal form and began to bear down on both Zepheera and the boy, the latter of whom took to hiding behind the former. Zepheera felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for this boy, and she protected him from the horrible woman as best as she could. Her efforts proved futile as the woman tried to pry the boy from Zepheera’s grasp. Zepheera held on to the child with all of her strength, but after a long, hard struggle, her grip failed.

“Kernel!” she shouted as she awoke, bolting upright. Breathing hard, as though she’d just run a mile—which was a notably longer distance for a borrower—she tried to talk herself back into reality. She acknowledged that she was in her room on her own bed, and that it had been only a dream, albeit an extremely disconcerting dream.

“It’s alright, Zepheera,” said the Doctor. Still a bit on edge, Zepheera was slightly startled and she jumped in surprise; she hadn’t known he was there. He was sitting in the rolling desk chair, a hand raised as though he might have been touching Zepheera’s shoulder when she awoke, eyes full of concern. “You were dreaming.”

She nodded, swallowing hard to moisten her cotton-dry throat. She tried her best to calm down, not wanting to worry the Doctor. “How long have I been out?” she asked.

“A few hours,” he replied. After a few minutes of silence, he added, “I found something that I think’ll help get some of your memory back.”

Zepheera’s brow rose and she looked as the Doctor held out to her a necklace woven out of several pieces of string. Hanging from it was a little, circular wooden pendant into which was carved the letter ‘Z’. Zepheera frowned at it thoughtfully, and she took it from him.

“You were really adamant about taking it off before we went anywhere, said you didn’t want to lose it. I figured it was rather valuable to you.”

Zepheera nodded slowly as she turned over the pendant over. Engraved on the back were two words that confirmed her suspicions: ‘From Papa’

“This was my father’s,” Zepheera said around the lump in her throat. She said nothing more as she absentmindedly stroked the polished wood with the side of her thumb.

It was then that the Doctor noticed something. “Let me see this,” he muttered as he gently took the hand that held the pendant. He was only interested in her thumb, however; in the middle of it was a red mark indicating slight infection—right where she had nicked it a few hours earlier. “This hasn’t healed,” he said gravely.

Zepheera gave him a sideways look. He was acting very strangely. “Yeah. So what?”

The Doctor took her other hand and pulled her off the bed and towards the door. “Something’s wrong! Let’s go back to the infirmary!”

But Zepheera, who hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on, yanked her hand free. “Doctor, I’m fine,” she assured. “Really, I a—“She stopped short in mid-sentence, took in a sharp breath, and frowned deeply. Her eyes squeezed shut and the necklace clattered to the floor as she brought both hands up to clutch her head. The Doctor caught her as her knees gave way.

Taking her head in his hands, he made her face parallel to his. Beads of sweat were accumulating on her burning forehead.

“Look at me. Look at me now!” With a lot of effort, Zepheera forced her eyes to open and look into the Doctor’s. His breath caught when he saw what was going on behind them.

“Your brain is degenerating!” Her eyes shut once again, and the Doctor wracked his mind for any possible explanation. The only one he could think of sent a cold shiver down his spine. “Zepheera, listen to me.” He tried his hardest to keep his voice steady, to be strong for her. “You have to remember. Back to the lab, back to whatever they did to you. I need you to remember if they injected you or not.”

Zepheera’s breath had become uneven and shaky, and she seemed to not hear him. He tried again. “Come on Zepheera, concentrate! Did they inject you?”

“I’m trying!” she managed. Although her brain felt like it was on fire, she was fighting it, forcing herself to think back as far as she could. All of a sudden, images flew past her mind’s eye—images of a human holding her down, of an evil-looking syringe needle, of the aforementioned needle penetrating her skin.

“Yes!” she shouted at last. “Yes, yes, they injected me!”

The Doctor had feared as much. He lifted Zepheera to her feet and slung her arm over his shoulder. He helped her out of her room and into the corridor, going as fast as he could, but not fast enough. Finally, he picked her up bridal style and carried her as he ran, all the time whispering to her that it was going to be alright, that she’d be fine. He hoped that was true.

Before he got to the control room, he used the ring to return to his normal height. He laid Zepheera down on the couch seat by the console as he worked the controls, piloting the Tardis to the only place that could help them.

…

It wasn’t long after Reg had been knocked out and abandoned by his team that he woke up to find the lab a mess. It was evident why they had done it; he had brought the specimen in for testing in the first place, so that made it his fault that the entire project was brought to an abrupt end. His head spun dizzily as he stood, looking glumly around the disheveled room, strewn with papers and various knocked-over things with no one to clean up but himself. With his luck, the others had probably alerted the police or security or something. Or else, they had locked him in and left him to starve to death. The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

He straightened his back, only to be overcome with another wave of dizziness. His ears rang a moment as he leaned against a counter for support. As the feeling subsided, he realized the ringing wasn’t in his ears. In fact, it wasn’t a ringing at all. It was a sound that brought about in him more fear than if the police, security, or the Devil himself had come for him. A mechanical grinding and a rush of wind drew his attention to the center of the room where sure enough, the blue box from only hours earlier was reappearing. Color drained from his face and his eyes became as wide as gravity globes. The box fully materialized and Reg froze. Judgment had come and he was entirely unprepared.

But this wasn’t the end, as he soon found out. It was only the beginning. For the man that stumbled out of the box wasn’t angry or vengeful. He was desperate. The owner of the slim arm slung over his shoulder was shaking and beyond feverish. Reg was finally broken out of his immobile state when the man’s gaze bore into his and he asked urgently:

“Help me.”

With hardly any hesitation, Reg rushed forward and helped the man drag the girl into the room; he briefly introduced himself as Reg, and the man in return said that he was the Doctor. If the situation were less urgent, he’d have asked his full name. But for all he knew, this girl was dying. So he set his priorities straight, swept a table clear, and helped the Doctor lay her down on it.

It was then that Reg recognized the girl as the same girl she’d kidnapped, except she was human-sized! He nearly asked, but he remembered—priorities. Instead, he opened his mouth to inquire about her state of health, but the Doctor was way ahead of him.

“Her brain is degenerating at an incredible rate. Do you know what they injected into her?”

Reg nodded. “Y-yes, I fetched it myself. They called for arsenic—the test subjects that they finished with were to be…put down—but I felt a bit guilty for doing this to her. So instead, I used a vial of parasulfidine. I-I hoped to maybe sneak in and let her go after they’d left her, I never thought that this—“

“Parasulfidine?” interrupted the Doctor with a deep frown. “But that’s harmless, why…? Nevermind, do you have any magnesium dioxinate??”

Reg wracked his brain. “I don’t think so. But let me check!” He hurried off, rummaging through cupboard after cupboard. “Aha! They didn’t take everything! The components should be here, but I don’t know how to—“

“I do!” With that, the Doctor and Reg swapped places, and Reg kept a vigil eye on the girl. Every now and then, Reg would hear the Doctor mutter something like, “Oh, not this time…no you don’t…not gonna lose this one.”

The shaking had worsened and she was writhing in pain. She could barely stifle exclamations of pain and her eyes might as well have been glued shut. Just the sight of her pain made Reg’s own head ache. He glanced back at the Doctor, who was madly mixing together various liquids. The Doctor looked back at the girl as he poured a small amount of his mixture into a tall beaker and swirled it around.

“Keep her awake,” he ordered. “If she loses consciousness, she might never regain it! Talk to her, make her listen!”

Reg nodded and knelt by the table on which the girl lay. His mind blanked for a second and he didn’t know what to say. “Does she have a name?” he asked the Doctor.

“Zepheera,” the Doctor replied simply.

‘Alright,’ thought Reg, ‘I can remember that.’

“Zepheera, can you hear me?” She seemed to not be able to, so Reg tried again, a little louder this time. “Can you hear me? Nod if you hear my voice.”

She nodded.

“Brilliant! Now listen, Zepheera: I need you to open your eyes.”

She shook her head and let out a soft dry sob.

“Please, it’s important! You could die! Open your eyes, please!”

Zepheera shook her head again; this time, she managed to choke out the word, “Doctor!”

“I’m right here, it’s okay!” called the Doctor over his shoulder, his hands working as fast as possible. “Listen to him, he’s trying to help!”

“It hurts!”

“I know it hurts, but you need to trust me!”

Zepheera stayed quiet for a few moments, apart from her fast, uneven breathing, and she finally opened her bloodshot eyes. She glanced around the room and caught sight of Reg.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly.

Reg didn’t know what to say at first. A part of him was grateful that she didn’t recognize him. “My name’s Reg,” he said at last.

She stared at him for a moment before involuntarily squeezing her eyes shut, rolling onto her back, and suppressing a paroxysm of pain behind her lips. Her eyes snapped open the second the wave of excruciating pain subsided into the constant, significantly less strong pain.

“Doctor, it’s getting worse!” she called in the general direction his voice had come from before. Her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing and her breathing had become more faltered.

“Almost done!” he replied as he poured the solution into a small vial and attached into a syringe that resembled a gun. He immediately darted over to Zepheera, gently tilting her head to one side and placing the end on her temple. “Not gonna lie, this is gonna pinch,” he warned, pulling the trigger. There was a small hiss and the liquid diffused into her blood stream. If she felt it, she didn’t react; perhaps she was in too much pain to have felt it.

The Doctor and Reg sat in agonizing tension, watching her closely. Gradually, her breathing started to slow to a more normal pace. Reg beamed. “It’s working!” He turned to the Doctor; his grin melted. By the look on the Doctor’s face, it wasn’t working at all. Just as he was about to ask, Zepheera gasped loudly and writhed into a tight ball, clutching her head and screaming. To Reg’s shock, the Doctor’s face lit up.

“Well, now it’s working,” the Doctor announced. He shot to his feet, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “I better whip up some more in case she needs another dosage!” Then he laid a hand on Zepheera’s shoulder, who had stopped screaming and was now moaning. “I’m sorry, Zepheera. This isn’t gonna be pleasant, but we’ll get through it. You’re gonna be okay. Better, you’re gonna be brilliant!” With that, he rushed back to the counter and started mixing again.

Meanwhile, Reg was gaping at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell are you on about??” he demanded, following him. “This isn’t better, it’s worse! It makes no sense that—“

“Actually, it makes perfect sense, you just don’t get it yet,” the Doctor replied surprisingly calmly, given the circumstances. He pointed to Zepheera with his free hand while the other swirled liquids around. “Worse would be her dying. That is not her dying; that is her system giving the parasulfidine the boot! Hah! After that, her immune system will take care of the rest!” With a triumphant look, he turned his full attention to what his hands were doing. “Now, she suffered from severe amnesia earlier. If I’m right, and I usually am, she should be getting some of her memory back. Go sit with her, ask her about herself, and make sure she remembers! Oh, and you might want to grab a bin; it’s possible that at any time, she could expel the parasulfidine. Go on!”

Reg stared at the Doctor for a second, not sure if the man was insane or a genius, before he nodded, snatched the nearest bin marked ‘Hazardous Waste’ and went back to Zepheera, who had shut her eyes again and was groping the air blindly with one hand, as though silently longing for touch. Reg took her hand and knelt by her. As soon as his skin met hers, her eyes shot open to see who it was. Grave recognition slowly crossed her face.

“You,” she whispered.

At this, Reg hesitated. “Ah, right, um…hi. You…seem to remember me now, so…sorry about earlier…when I kidnapped you.” He finally decided to stop talking when he realized that this wasn’t helping. So he tried again. “Er, tell me about yourself, Zepheera. About, er…your family! Do you remember your mum? What’s she like?”

Involuntarily, Zepheera’s moans instantly turned into sobs at the mention of her mother. Reg frantically tried to cover up his mistake. “Okay, not your mum then! Erm, what about your father? Siblings? Anything?”

“She…hates me…” She managed between sobs.

This piqued Reg’s curiosity, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Who, your mother? Why would she hate you?”

“Because I killed him!” Zepheera shouted. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault they’re dead!”

All noise in the room stopped apart from her sobs. Even the clinking of beakers ceased as the Doctor and Reg both stared at her. The Doctor snapped out of it first, hurrying to finish, while Reg continued to stare. He had no response for such an answer. Meanwhile, Zepheera lay back, crying hysterically, repeating miserably under breath, “It’s my fault…it’s my fault…”

The Doctor finally finished, this time with a tall test tube full of the stuff, which he stowed away in his pocket. “Bright side: Her memory’s coming back!” he thought aloud, as though trying to convince himself. Poor Zepheera was in hysterics; she probably had no idea what she was saying, and there was little chance she’d remember it later. He lifted her off the table and opened the doors to his box with a click of his fingers. He had carried her halfway inside when he turned back to Reg, who was only just getting over the initial shock.

“Well, come _on!_ ” the Doctor called, nodding toward the inside of the box. Reg didn’t know much of anything about this big, blue, wood box of the Doctor’s, but he knew that it was his only way out. With a grateful look, he started toward the box as the Doctor added, “Oh, and you might want to bring the bin. Just in case.”

Reg grabbed the bin without question. Right after he rushed into the box, the door shut behind him. Slowly, the blue box faded out of existence just the same way it had appeared.


	7. Puzzle After Conundrum After Enigma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late, but I had standardized testing. But here it is (:

Chapter 6: Puzzle After Conundrum After Enigma

Since her brain had started melting, since being reunited with her kidnapper, and especially since being injected with the Doctor’s miracle drug, Zepheera had been, for all intents and purposes, out of it. Time passed in a disjointed pattern and she was in a perpetual state of limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. The most she could recall later were little tidbits, many of which were of her vomiting into a bin. It was during those moments that she recalled regretting the vegetable soup from earlier. The memories of her getting sick were the most vivid—being the hardest to forget—the rest of them sort of jumbling into a blur.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity wandering through fog, she woke up in her own bed cocooned in a warm, thin blanket. Blinking around blearily, she tried to get her mind to focus. She knew who she was, where she was, and most of what had happened. She gave a soft groan, rubbing her forehead. Her brain didn’t hurt anymore, but it felt…numb, underused. Truthfully, she barely had the energy to lift her head, but she managed to loll it to the side. Beside her bed sat the Doctor in her spinney desk chair. Zepheera had never seen him so tired and worn-out.

“Doctor…?” she whispered, her voice rough with fatigue. The Doctor’s face brightened a little when he saw that she was awake and he offered a warm smile but said nothing.

“What’s—“she began, but stopped when the Doctor reached behind him and handed her a slightly steaming bowl of more vegetable soup, which she slurped down in minutes after realizing how hungry she was. She managed to keep this amount of food down, which made the Doctor smile again as he took the empty bowl from her. She shivered a little, though, despite the brief warmth the soup gave her, and she wrapped her blanket tighter around herself.

Zepheera, for the life of her, couldn’t figure why he wasn’t speaking to her. For the short time she’d known him, he had done little else _but_ talk, and it was odd that he was so quiet.

Before she could inquire about it, the Doctor tossed something to her and she caught it. It was a colorful triangular pyramid made of little hexagonal polyhedrons. One side was blue, another red, another white, and the last yellow. Each facet of the little pieces had a Y-shaped incision that made a triangular depression in the center. Zepheera looked at the Doctor curiously, having no clue what he wanted her to do with it. Catching her hesitation, he leaned forward in the chair and took it from her gently. He then proceeded to take the pyramid apart piece by piece, letting them fall onto Zepheera’s blanketed lap.

It slowly dawned on Zepheera that it was a puzzle, the goal being to reassemble the pyramid. Though she could see no discernible reason why the Doctor wanted her to complete it, she could see no reason not to. So she fingered through the pieces in her lap, trying to make some sense out of it all.

Upon further inspection, Zepheera found that there were two distinct types amongst the polyhedrons: Most had two colors, two white faces and two blue faces for instance, and a few had three colors, such as two red faces and a yellow and a white face. This seemed noteworthy, so she split the pieces into two-colored and three-colored piles. Six pieces were in the former pile, and four were in the latter.

Once she had done this, she noticed four pieces she hadn’t noticed before. They were small, black cube-shaped things, but they weren’t hollow like the polyhedrons. It was solid plastic, and it was as though someone had compressed the cubes at a point in the center of each face so that it looked like an inverted pyramid. She picked one up and examined it closely, finding that if she held it with the corner facing her, the edges made a sort of Y shape. Not unlike the slits in the polyhedrons. She put two and two together quickly, grabbing the nearest polyhedron piece and inserting the cube into one of the slits with a little _click_. She gave a little triumphant smile; now that she knew how the pyramid stayed together, it was only a matter of assembling it correctly. She separated the two pieces in her hands and replaced them into their respective piles and began to think.

She decided that the three-colored pieces had to be from the corners, so it might be best to start there. She picked the nearest one, one with two yellow, one blue, and one red. She then inserted one of the cube pieces into one of the yellow sides so that all three of the available colors were visible. Then she picked a piece that had two of the colors, specifically red and yellow. It took a bit of twisting to get the colors to line up correctly, but she managed to click the piece into place. Next was to put another corner piece on, so she reached for the one that had yellow and red on it (along with white). Using a second cube, she fastened this third piece to the end of the row. This constituted the base of one of the triangles in the pyramid. Next, she figured she might as well finish the triangle she’d started; so, using three more pieces and another cube, she completed one facet of the pyramid.

This left Zepheera with three two-colored pieces, one three-colored piece, and one cube left. Admittedly, it baffled her to think that with only one connective piece and four building pieces, she could complete this puzzle. She quickly realized that she had made the base of the pyramid, and now all she needed to do was make a smaller one to top it off. So without further hesitation, she attached the remaining pieces together and connected them to the rest. Then she held in her hand the finished product, feeling accomplished and mentally stimulated.

All this had also made her tired, and she slowly sank back into sleep as she passed the puzzle to the Doctor. The last thing she saw before she slipped into unconsciousness was the Doctor’s warm smile as he stood and pocketed the little pyramid.

…

Things continued in this pattern for some time: Zepheera would fall asleep for an hour or two, and when she awoke, the Doctor would be there with soup and a simple puzzle. Once, he brought her a small, circular plastic maze with a bead of mercury inside, which she had to guide to the center. She found this amusingly ironic, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she and the Doctor were being temporarily silent.

After thirteen hours of this had passed and she fell asleep after battling a Rubik’s cube for an hour and a half, the Doctor went and fetched another thermos of soup. She remained asleep when he returned. Instead of waiting for her to wake up, he set the thermos on her nightstand and sat at the edge of her bed. Reaching down slowly and gently, he touched his fingers to her temples and shut his eyes. Although she seemed perfectly fine, he wanted to be perfectly certain. No mistakes this time.

He must’ve woken her because he was halfway done examining her mental health when Zepheera said tiredly, “You know, you could’ve asked.”

Eyes still closed, he said apologetically, “I needed to be sure.”

“Oh, so we’re talking now?” she joked.

The Doctor chuckled lightly. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to see, just imagine a door and close it. I won’t peek.”

“Alright.”

So the Doctor continued to look. Now that Zepheera was aware of what the Doctor was doing, she seemed to pay closer attention to her various memories, making them harder to just skim over. One in particular that he tried his hardest to ignore involved a woman that he could only assume was her mother. He could hear her shouts, which were short-lived as Zepheera quickly formed a door and slammed it shut. The noise from it ceased and the Doctor moved on. The only other memory that Zepheera formed a door for was of a young boy. She started to shut it, but seemed to change her mind at the last second and eased it back open. The Doctor was about to pass it by like the rest when Zepheera suddenly said, “Wait.”

The Doctor stopped in his tracks as she continued: “Wait, please. Let me see him again, just for a little bit. Please.”

A bit unsure, the Doctor turned back to the memory of the boy. He seemed to be about eight years old; ten at most, with eyes the color of melted butter and a mop of strawberry-blonde hair on his head. In the memory, he was smiling, laughing, and he’d wrestle with Zepheera, from whose point of view the memory was of course. He could only guess that the boy was her younger brother. Gradually, she shut the door, and the Doctor went back to checking her mental vitals.

“He was my little brother,” she said reminiscently, “Well, half-brother, really. His name was Kernel.”

The Doctor hummed in response, but the name was familiar. “You shouted his name when you woke up, back when you were…unwell,” he recalled. He half-hoped she’d tell him more about her brother and her family in general; just to be sure that none of her earlier memories were lost.

“Yeah, I remember.” Eyes still closed, Zepheera’s brow furrowed in the slightest. “I don’t really remember what it was about, but I do remember that he was there. My mother, too, and I think my father. It was weird; it was like…even though I couldn’t remember much at the time, I was trying to make myself remember.”

The Doctor couldn’t think of a reply to this, seeing as he was also occupied with Zepheera’s mental health. To keep the conversation going, he asked, “When you say half-brother—did your father remarry or…?”

“My mother,” she answered quietly. “Few years after my father died, she married some guy named Baycliff. I never really liked him. I mean, he seemed nice enough, to my mother at least. Maybe that’s why I disliked him. He just…wasn’t my dad. The only father-figure I ever had was my father’s brother, my uncle Boston. He taught me everything I know ‘bout borrowing.”

Now the Doctor couldn’t help himself; usually, Zepheera was very evasive when the subject of her past, but the fact that she was recovering from severe mental trauma and her drugs were still in effect probably had a hand in her sudden want to talk.  His curiosity was overpowering. “How did your father…?”

“No idea. All I know is he died when I was about one, maybe one and a half…and my mother never let me hear the end of it.”

It was the Doctor’s turn to frown now. “What d’you mean?”

Zepheera hesitated a moment before letting out a long breath and replying, “Apparently, however he died, it was somehow my fault. And it didn’t help that I look a lot like him, that every day growing up, I reminded her of that which I had deprived her of. She…she’d hit me a lot growing up, encouraged by the fact that my bruises would heal right away. A couple times, she even…broke my ankles.”

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open to stare at Zepheera in disbelief. Sensing the disconnection, Zepheera opened her eyes as well, chewing at her lower lip and looking meekly up at the Doctor.

“On the bright side, I have really strong ankles now,” she said quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

The conversation had taken a turn that was beyond personal, and the Doctor resorted to not ask any more questions as he touched his fingers to her temples once more to finish his examination. To his surprise, Zepheera kept talking.

“Growing up with that, I secretly wished that she would never have any more children. But when she and Baycliff had Kernel…I instantly fell in love with the kid. He was just the sweetest thing. He took after my mother in looks, which made her happy. She practically treated him like an angel. He never liked that he was the one who got all the attention, all the love, but I never really minded. It was better than us both being abused. Once Kernel was born, my abuse became less physical and more mental, which was easier to ignore. But sometimes, I’d make that one slip-up, the straw that’d break her back, and she’d let me have it.

“By the time Kernel was seven and I was fourteen, he showed a great interest in borrowing. In fact, he’d get me to sneak out with him and we’d borrow. I taught him everything Uncle Boston taught me. Well, as much as I could before…”

Her hesitation piqued the curiosity that the Doctor was trying so hard to suppress, and he blurted, “Before what?” and instantly wished he hadn’t asked.

With another slow sigh, she said, “We were borrowing, Kernel and I, and he was still learning. I was trying to show him the easiest way to remove the lid from this little tin on the counter where the tea bags were kept. When my back was turned, he spotted something on the floor that he wanted, and he went down to get it while I was busy. I looked back around and he was gone. I called him several times, and then he shouted my name back. But he sounded like he was in trouble, so I hurried down and over to where he was cornered by the family cat. By the time I ran over there and got him, he was badly hurt. I’d heard that cats like to play with their intended food, but it was almost like he’d been bludgeoned. I carried him someplace where the cat couldn’t get us, and Kernel died in my arms. He was only ten years old.

“You can imagine what I came home to, soaked in the blood of my mother’s beloved son, holding what was left of him, and once again, it was my fault. It got so bad that I grabbed what I could and ran away.”

There were a few moments of silence, which the Doctor finally broke by saying, “I’m…so sorry all that happened to you.” This must’ve been what she had meant back at the lab. _“It’s my fault they’re dead.”_ All her life, she’d been haunted by the deaths of her father and her young brother.

Zepheera cleared her tight throat. “Yeah, well…Hey. What’s that?”

The Doctor hadn’t been paying attention. In fact, he had finished checking on Zepheera’s mental state and was about to break contact when she interrupted. He quickly found the memory she had seen; at first glance, it seemed like a memory of a dark-haired man that looked uncannily like Zepheera. He was undoubtedly her father.

“Is that…” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it. “Can we see it? Please?” she asked in the same way she had asked to see Kernel.

As he approached the memory, everything else seemed to fade into the background; Zepheera’s entire focus was on this one moment in her life that she so desperately wanted to remember.

It was from the point of view of Zepheera as an infant, going by the fact that she lay in a craftily-made cradle. The man was leaning over the edge, smiling brightly down at her, turquoise eyes gleaming.

Because it was such an early memory—probably her earliest—the images that played out were a bit blurred together. The first was of Zepheera’s father dangling in front of her the same necklace that the Doctor had shown her earlier, only it looked brand new.

 _“Look what Daddy made you, sweetheart,”_ he said softly, his voice sounding rather far away. He lowered it to where Zepheera’s pudgy little baby hands could stretch forward to grab the dangly thing from her father. _“Happy birthday, darling.”_ He chuckled lightly as she took it and began gnawing on its woven cord. The image blurred here, but his voice could still be heard.

 _“You know what? I’m gonna keep learning to read and write until I’ve got it down pat.”_ When the image refocused, Zepheera’s father had reached down into young Zepheera’s cradle and she had her tiny fingers wrapped around his long index finger. _“And someday, when you get old enough, I’ll teach you too. And you’ll be the best borrower there ever was.”_ Young Zepheera giggled and he chuckled again, gazing down lovingly at his daughter.

 _“I love you more than life, Zepheera,”_ he whispered almost inaudibly.

And as the memory of her father uttered those last seven words, all hell broke loose.

Everything that happened next came so quickly and disjointedly that it seemed like it was all happening at once. First, there was a faint violet glow, and as it intensified, you could see reflected in her father’s eyes that the light was coming from Zepheera’s eyes. The light grew brighter still, filling the room, and Zepheera’s necklace rose into the air by itself. More things began to float on their own, flying around the room in haphazardly patterns as though a great wind were blowing them around. This created a hectic barrier between young Zepheera and her father, who had been pushed out of sight.

There was a shout for _“Klerida,”_ from him, but no response came. His grunts of effort could be heard as he was no doubt dodging the various projectiles to make his way back to Zepheera, whose crib had remained untouched.

Things had begun to bounce all over the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and bits of decoration and debris were added to the indoor hurricane. With notable effort, Zepheera’s father managed to cling to the bars of Zepheera’s cradle, pulling himself up so that he bent over the side again. He looked desperately at his daughter, who seemed to be at the center of all this madness.

He didn’t order her to stop, or even try to negotiate with her. Instead, he shouted above the noise, _“It’s alright Zepheera! I’m here, I’m not gonna leave you! It’s al—“_

At that moment, something small but hard and sharp-edged collided with his head, knocking him backwards and away from the cradle. He had moved out of Zepheera’s sight, but she rolled over to see where he had gone. He groaned softly as he sat up; he seemed a little dazed and he had a short gash across his forehead, which began to close almost immediately. The Doctor had almost forgotten that Zepheera had gotten this trait from her father.

He stood up, swaying slightly, when a dresser came around and swiftly pinned him against the wall by his legs. This brought him to his senses and try as he might to force the dresser off of him, it wouldn’t move. Just then, the door could be heard bursting open and a young woman’s voice shouted, _“Tack!”_ The owner of the voice quickly came into view as she started toward Zepheera’s father, barely avoiding the objects barreling around the room. Meanwhile, young Zepheera was attempting to stand in her cradle, leaning against the bars for support.

 _“Klerid—“_ But Zepheera’s father was cut short when a splinter of wood, maybe two inches in length, came hurtling toward him and hit its mark, impaling him through the stomach. Young Zepheera watched as his jaw dropped, his eyes glazed over, and he emitted a low choking sound.

Zepheera and the Doctor pulled away at the same time, both wide-eyed, Zepheera’s cheeks streaked with silent tears. She was wide-awake now. 


	8. News

Chapter 7: News

Zepheera was utterly speechless; she swallowed thickly and moistened her lips, feeling the need to say something. But she was unsure what could be said about that.

“Wow…” she said hoarsely after a moment. “So…after all this time…she was right. I _did_ …kill him.”

The Doctor, whose mind had been working on overtime, was brought back to attention at her words. “Oh, no! No, it wasn’t your fault!”

Zepheera frowned in deep confusion. She and the Doctor _had_ seen the same memory, right? “It’s not? How?”

“First things first,” said the Doctor, having regained his composure in record time. “I checked up on your mental health, your vitals and such. Now, I’ve got good news, slightly unsettling news, better news, and surprise news.”

His chipper mood seemed to be contagious; Zepheera felt cheered up already. “Alright, hit me. What’s the diagnosis, Doctor?”

“Good news is: All your vitals look _beautiful,_ and you’re in a perfectly healthy state.” He grinned widely, but hesitated a moment before continuing. “The slightly unsettling news might be a bit harder to explain, even harder to take.”

Zepheera nodded. “I can handle it,” she insisted.

With a long, deep breath, he leaned forward in the chair and began: “Back at the lab, they injected parasulfidine into your system. It’s relatively harmless to most living things in the universe, humans included. And since borrowers are so similar to humans—sorry, but it’s the truth,” he added when Zepheera gave him a look, “—then it shouldn’t have affected you in any way. And yet you clearly had a strong reaction to it. Its effects were slow at first, and then came all at once.”

“I know, I remember. What’s this got to do with anything?”

“It’s got everything to do with _everything!_ ” the Doctor exclaimed enthusiastically. “There are only a few things in the universe that could have any sort of reaction to parasulfidine, but I’ve never heard of any like yours. And what we just saw gave me the final clue, and it looked to me like an Ulrix.”

“What’s that?” asked Zepheera after the Doctor paused, seemingly waiting for her to ask.

“Ulrix are about as old as the universe, thought to be extinct, but obviously they’re not. They’re abstract creatures; they have no corporeal form, are said to live for hundreds of thousands of years, and they survive on energy converted from emotion. But more on that later.

“No one knows exactly where they came from or how they came to be, but they are said to roam the galaxies at a very young age, surviving solely on residual energy from the parent. They remain children for a _very_ long time, probably thousands of years, and they wander the universe seeking out the purest of souls and latch onto their minds. This process is strictly non-invasive and the host is usually unaware that the Ulrix is living inside them.”

“So, you’re telling me that one of those was _in_ _me?_ ” Zepheera interjected.

“Oi, let me finish!” the Doctor protested, thrusting a finger to Zepheera’s lips. He continued: “In their host, the Ulrix converts positive energy from emotions that the host receives or feels—for instance, love. The Ulrix uses this positive energy to sustain itself. But it also converts negative emotions. Not on purpose, it’s its instinct. And whereas the positive energy adds to its life force, negative energy is harmful to the Ulrix. If their life force becomes dangerously low, it’ll abandon its host in search of a new one. And if it cannot find a sufficient host or if it is exposed to an overabundance of negative energy, the Ulrix dies. Do you follow me?”

His finger still at her lips, Zepheera could only nod and silently marvel at how he seemed to say all that without stopping for breath. Finally lowering his finger, the Doctor moved on to the point he was trying to get across.

“Now, your Ulrix must’ve attached itself to you shortly after your birth. After all, whose soul could be purer than a newborn baby’s? And right in there,”—the Doctor poked Zepheera’s forehead fore effect—“it lived peacefully on the love of your parents. It must’ve been young too—not much older than you were, relatively speaking.”

“How do you know?” inquired Zepheera. She braced herself to be shushed again, and was relieved when she wasn’t.

“ _Well,_ it takes a load of experience and practice to harness the energy properly, and it’s something that Ulrix have to learn on their own. Yours was obviously unprepared for how much your parents, your father especially, were going to love you. The energy it converted built up and up to the bursting point until it finally released. What we saw was a rare case of the energy being released rather violently.”

The Doctor paused so Zepheera could let this sink in. After a moment of pondering, Zepheera said, “But…it didn’t do it on purpose, right?”

“Oh, of course not!” replied the Doctor. It had no idea what it was doing, it was only a child.” Zepheera nodded but said nothing.

“So…” she began again, “what happened to the Ulrix when my mum…” She couldn’t seem to finish her sentence.

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor readjusted himself so that one foot rested on the other knee. “Well, I have a theory. After your mother’s behavior toward you took a turn for the worse, it slowly began to lose its life energy, but it managed to keep itself alive by the only source of love in your life.”

“My uncle.”

“My thoughts exactly. Then when your brother was born, you finally had something to love. This might’ve been enough to keep the Ulrix alive for a reasonable amount of time…Until Kernel died and your mother seemed to hate you all the more. This sudden burst of  hate and sadness and anger would’ve been enough to kill it.

“But,” he intoned, his lightened expression and tone telling Zepheera that there was a catch. “But, whether by accident or on purpose, in its dying moments, the Ulrix left a little behind. For one, it opened your mind, heightening your IQ; it also lengthened your life span and—“

“The telekinesis,” Zepheera whispered, putting two and two together. Thinking back, her telekinesis had only ever worked when she was in great emotional stress.

The Doctor nodded, patting Zepheera’s hand. “…About that,” he began. “When the parasulfidine was in your system, it attacked what was left of the Ulrix in your mind. But having spent eighteen years in your head, the residual was effectively melded into your brain. The antidote I gave you stopped the process before it killed you altogether, but not everything the Ulrix left you could be recovered.”

Zepheera paled in the slightest; from what the Doctor had told her, she had taken on several of the Ulrix’s qualities. She’d had them all her life, and she wasn’t sure if she’d feel whole if a part of her was just _gone_ , just like that. “What’s gone?” she managed to ask.

The Doctor paused for effect, leaving Zepheera in a suspenseful silence as her eyes bore into his. A slow smile formed on his face. “The telekinesis,” he answered finally.

Zepheera let out a breath she just realized she’d been holding, and she laughed in relief. Her telekinesis was gone! Just the telekinesis! She felt as though she could never be in a bad mood after this.

Smiling widely, he continued enthusiastically. “But apart from that, you’re all set! Your memory’s back in order, and you’re brilliant as ever!”

“How could you tell that?” Zepheera wondered, playfully skeptical.

Instead of answering, the Doctor reached into a pocket and tossed something at Zepheera. Upon catching it, she recognized it as the Rubik’s cube. A slow, thoughtful smile crossed her face as it dawned on her. That was the purpose of the puzzles. It wasn’t just to mentally stimulate her, it wasn’t just a part of her recovery. It was a test. It was the Doctor’s way of tacitly proving that things could be tested in a noninvasive way, in a way that Zepheera didn’t feel like a guinea pig. She looked back at the Doctor with the most genuine smile, setting the cube on her bedside table.

“I…I don’t even—“She never got to finish her sentence, which was lucky because she had no idea how it was going to end. The Doctor had interrupted her by lifting a finger in a gesture that made her stop short, and he jumped to his feet. In a second, he was filled with that familiar glow of childish energy.

“I think you’ve had enough chit-chat for now, you should get some rest. Oh! Almost forgot.” He took the thermos of vegetable soup he had brought for her and handed it to her. “Drink this first. Okay?” She nodded and he beamed, ruffling her hair a little. “Right, sleep tight an’ all that! Night-night!” And just like that, he was out the door.

The Doctor had left so suddenly that Zepheera was left a little dumbstruck. _What was_ that _about?_ She shrugged and turned her attention to the soup in her hands. It was still a little warm, but the temperature didn’t really matter to her at the moment. Within minutes the thermos was emptied and replaced on the nightstand. Instantly her eyelids felt heavier, and she laid back and got comfortable.

As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered why the Doctor had left in such a rush. He had even neglected to tell her the surprise news he had promised her. What was it that made him want to leave? He had almost seemed…uncomfortable for some reason.

It was right when she was about to drop off entirely that it came to her. Right before he had the sudden urge to leave, Zepheera had been gearing up to thank him. She still recalled what little of the Doctor’s mind she had seen while suffering from amnesia, and one small detail became evident to her: the Doctor was a man that saved the universe a thousand times and would save it a thousand times more, and never once did he ask to be thanked. Never once did he stand still long enough to _be_ thanked, and as the old saying went, old habits…

“Oh, that man…” Zepheera whispered thoughtfully as she slipped into a dream that she wouldn’t recall when she awoke.

…

The Doctor was again at her bedside when she woke up. She had finally gotten a full eight hours, he informed her, and he brought breakfast in bed: bread and butter and a nice hot cup of tea (all of which were a delight to Zepheera, and it was a relief to be finally eating something besides vegetable soup). When she finished, the Doctor set aside her plate and mug, flipped over the tray on which they had sat, and whipped out a deck of playing cards, which he expertly shuffled. He showed her how to set up a game of Solitaire, a task made easy now that they were talking to each other. She quickly got the hang of it, playing round after round and winning about four-fifths of the time as the Doctor looked on fondly. After about forty-five minutes of this, the Doctor got up and headed to the door, saying he’d be back in a moment. Just before he left, a thought occurred to Zepheera.

“Doctor?” she called as she laid an eight of spades on a nine.

“Yeah?” the Doctor turned around immediately.

“Whatever happened to Reg?”

“Oh! He’s fine; dropped him off safe and sound at the nearest spaceport after you’d upchucked a few times. Left him with enough credits to get him started. By now, he’s got a new name, landed on some new planet, and started all over. Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

Zepheera shrugged. “Like you said, curiosity.”

The Doctor hummed thoughtfully, starting back toward the door. “I’ll be back. Two tics.”

Once again, the pair had fallen into a routine: The Doctor would bring some kind of mind game that Zepheera had never learned, like Checkers, they’d have a go at it for a while, and then he’d leave for a few minutes to get something else. Zepheera remained awake the entire time, feeling quite rested; and the sense of a schedule made her feel quite content. Borrowers, for the most part, survive on routine; it was imperative to know when humans were in and out of the house and certain rooms. Unscheduled humans were unpredictable, and only the most skilled of borrowers could maintain under such circumstances. This need for routine seemed to be inherent, and it was quite comforting for Zepheera.

Though the worst seemed to be behind them, both she and the Doctor knew she wasn’t quite better. She’d tried to cross the room to get to her en suite toilet and her legs had given out from under her. It was lucky that she’d caught herself on her wheeled computer chair, but the Doctor did find her stretched nearly across the room clinging to it. So they agreed to wait out the recovery process, which the Doctor promised would only be a few days at most.

It was during a rather intense game of chess that the Doctor struck up a conversation.

“So, I’ve been thinking—“

“Good for you!” Zepheera joked, looking up from the board. “I knew you’d come around to it someday. Bravo, good sir!” They chuckled, she returned her attention to the board and contemplating her move as the Doctor continued.

“Well, you remember when you were having your amnesia spell, and I had to sort of explain borrowers to you?”

“Yep,” she said, making her move. “You did surprisingly better than I thought you would, considering what you actually know.”

“Right,” the Doctor nodded, analyzing the board as he went on, “I _don’t_ know a whole lot about the kind of people, the kind of environment you grew up in. Hardly _anything_ , really, which is really saying something, believe you me. Mainly because you lot seem to keep such a low profile, and the fact that you’re an _extremely_ new and young species. Check,” he added as he made his move.

Zepheera frowned at the board, worrying at her lower lip. She glanced up at the Doctor and asked casually, “What of it?” as she made a meager attempt at a move.

“ _Well_ , like I said, this got me thinking,” he said as he moved; Zepheera let out the breath she’d been holding as subtly as possible when he didn’t take her king. “Since you’re gonna be travelling with me for a while, I might as well learn as much as I can about your people.”

She studied the Doctor’s face almost as hard as she’d been studying the board. “How do you mean?”

A slow grin, a borderline smirk, made its appearance on the Doctor’s face. “What better way than the hands-on experience, and who better to teach me than the resident borrower?”

Zepheera’s eyes gleamed mischievously, though she somehow managed to keep the rest of her expression pensive. “Intriguing. Do go on,” she chimed playfully, making her move. She immediately regretted her decision, but she couldn’t take it back now. The Doctor’s most logical move would be to checkmate her.

The Doctor, however, was far more interested in the conversation than in the game. He leaned as far forward as he could without disturbing the board. “Once you’ve fully recovered, we’ll go somewhere and sometime of your choice, just as long as you won’t run into yourself or otherwise anyone who’s had a significant impact on your life. And then we’ll stay there for twenty-four hours while you show me around. Sound good to you?”

Now the Doctor had her full attention. She saw no immediate downside or issue with this plan, and she slowly nodded. “I think it sounds fantastic!” she beamed.

“Good! Then it’s settled!” Before Zepheera could say anything else, he moved his piece on the chessboard. “Checkmate.”

Zepheera exclaimed in mock frustration. “Damn your super-alien brain!”

The Doctor laughed triumphantly, throwing his hands up. “Ah, you never stood a chance; my people _invented_ chess!”

“I demand a rematch!”

“You’re on,” smirked the Doctor, and they passed their captured pieces back.

“Was that the surprise news you mentioned earlier?” she asked as she reset her side.

The Doctor slapped his forehead, making Zepheera jump. “Oh! I completely forgot about that! How could I forget that? I need a bloody bigger head!”

Zepheera managed a light chuckle at his overly-animated reaction, after the initial shock had worn off. “What is it?” she asked eagerly. If he was having such an episode over forgetting this one detail, then it must be quite a juicy one.

He leaned forward again, this time completely disregarding the board and causing some of the pieces to topple over. “While I was poking around in your brain and after I discovered that your telekinesis was gone, I found something else. You’ve probably guessed that you’ve at least partially taken on the life cycle of an Ulrix, I presume, based on your non-aging?” At her nod, he went on, “Well, I found just enough information to approximate how much of a young Ulrix’s life could be passed on to you, and subtracting seventy-four years from the aforementioned approximation, I was led to yet another approximation—“

“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Zepheera threw her hands up, trying to process all this. “You…know how long I’m going to live?”

“I do indeed,” replied the Doctor, smiling from ear to ear. “Or at least approximately. Would you like to know?”

Zepheera put some serious thought into the answer to this question. This was the mystery that had haunted her for over fifty years. How long would she stay the same as everything around her withered away? But this time, though the question was the same, the circumstances were different. She wasn’t just a wanderer anymore; she was a traveler, traveling with a seemingly ageless alien in his time-and-space machine. They could continue doing this for at least the better part of her life and a fair fraction of his. She felt that they both deserved the continuity in their lives. Finally, she reached a decision.

She shook her head “No.” After a deep breath, she added, “Might as well have one mystery, eh?”

The Doctor nodded, content with her decision. He would’ve been okay either way, but he still wanted to poke a little fun. “Are you sure? It’s quite a big number—“

“Hey!” Zepheera laughed, playfully hitting him on the arm. “Spoiler alert!”

The Doctor chuckled, trying his hardest to not be reminded of River Song from that one word. The woman who knew his name. He gave himself a good shake, packed up the chess set and put it aside.

“Have to put a rain check on the rematch. Probably time for lunch, anyhow. Want me to grab you a bite?”

“Sure, thanks,” said Zepheera, leaning back in bed and clasping her hands behind her head. A sudden thought came to her. She sat up and called, “Doctor?”

“Hm?” the Doctor whirled around on the balls of his feet.

With a small shrug, Zepheera played with her fingers in her lap as she said, “I suppose we’re even now.”

The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets, still grinning a little while frowning in the slightest. “How do you mean?”

“I saved your life, you saved mine. We’re even,” she said, smiling a bit.

He chuckled. “You know, you don’t have to keep score.”

“I know.” Her smile turned into a smirk. “I still like to keep it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, it means a lot! Comments are appreciated.  
> As you can see, there's no 'NEXT TIME' like in the last fic, and that's mainly because most of the fic has yet to be written. Because of this, I also don't know exactly when the next fic will be posted, but when I know, you'll know. Also, the idea for the next fic is pretty spelled out at the end, but that doesn't mean there won't be any surprises. I'm really excited about it.  
> The next fic will be entitled 'Things Lost, Things Found' (working title) and will be a bit of a filler story with (I'm sorry) a slight lack of aliens, not for lack of action I promise. It is not a fluff piece, however, and there's quite a bit of character development--or at least some minor character-reveals if that makes sense.  
> But anyway, I'll let you guys know when the next installment will be up! Love you!

**Author's Note:**

> Updates weekly, comments are appreciated :D


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